


Letting Go

by Minxie



Category: Adam Lambert (Musician)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-21
Updated: 2011-04-21
Packaged: 2017-10-18 11:38:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/188527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Minxie/pseuds/Minxie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Letting go is, simply put, not anything close to moving on.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Letting Go

**Author's Note:**

> **Prereaders:** Aislinn  
>  **Warnings:** * Death!fic*  
>  **Disclaimer:** This is a work of _fiction_ using names and faces associated with actual trufax people. I do not know these people in any way, shape, or form outside of what they show the public. I just use them for my amusement. Cause I'm a freak like that. *smirk*  
>  **AN:** ♥ ♥ ♥

Eyes tired, gritty from lack of sleep, he drops to the ground and reaches out, trails his fingers over the cold marble, catching and releasing on each engraved letter. Four weeks gone. Four weeks of no sleep, of rage and anger and despair. Four weeks of coming here when the sun sets in the west, staying until it breaks again at his back. Four weeks and he still has no words, doesn't know what to say.

 _I hate you_ clogs his throat, rolling in his gut and clawing his insides, begging to be set free. But he can't say it. He _won't_ say it.

Because right now he's afraid he might mean it. A little bit at least, more if he thinks too hard about it. He never said it in jest, he refuses to give voice to the words now, refuses to toss them out when they cannot be refuted, can't be taken back.

When he can't make up for them later.

He bites back the _you promised_ too. They both know what they promised. Things like forever and always and never alone again. All things that are gone now, things that, when he thinks about them too much, lead him back to _I hate you._

All lead back to the hate that is consuming him. Hate for a situation, for an accident. Hate for a betrayal.

Hate that he's afraid will smother the love if he isn't careful.

With a rough hand, he rubs his stinging eyes, fighting the familiar burn that comes with the inability of release. His family, his friends, have all told him to let it out, to cry and scream and vent.

If only they knew.

He's cried himself out. Sitting here in the grass, the scent of fresh churned earth filling his nostrils, the chill of night bleeding into early morning dew wetting his skin. He's cried.

He's cried himself breathless. Cried himself into headaches and mindless stupors. Cried from sunset to sunrise, his throat raw and torn, swollen with words that won't come.

Here, where it's just them, he's shattered into a million pieces, held together only by memories and whispered promises that no one else heard.

He grieves the way they loved. Privately.

He squashes the desire to say _I miss you._ It's something that, if started, he's sure to be repeating forever.

Forever. He's not supposed to miss him forever. He's supposed to have him, love him, for an eternity.

He runs a hand over the dates. Too close together, not enough time between them.

The last thing he'd said, in the hospital before the high-pitched tone of a flatline tore through the silence, the last words he’d whispered were _I love you._

He said it then, when it counted. When they could be heard and understood and, with a slight nod, returned.

Saying them now, when they will only echo into nothingness, when they can't be returned by word or deed, will only twist the knife, will enlarge the wound and leave him bleeding harder and more until there truly is nothing left but an empty shell.

He can't become that. Giving over to the call to hide away in his room is something that he promised not to do.

There have been enough broken promises between them. He won't add to that list.

Even if all he wants is a quiet place to lie down, a place with no expectations, no chance at failures. Somewhere dark and cool, somewhere he can just rest until it's his time too.

He will let go because he promised to. He promised to live and love and laugh.

And he can't do that while he's holding on, while he's coming here each night looking for solace.

Pushing to a stand, he pulls the sunglasses off his head, slides them into place, blocking the early morning glare from his eyes. He steps away from the graveside and, releasing a deep sigh, says the only thing that will let him keep his promise, the only thing that will force him away from this place, from the memories. Licking his lips, he says, "Goodbye, Adam."

And then he turns and walks away, taking the first step towards moving on.

* * * * *


End file.
